Whispers on the Wasteland: I heard you calling
by Erarey13
Summary: In the wasteland, cries for help are as common as Radroaches in the DC Metro. For some, every cry must be answered, though there is no telling if there will be anything left to save once you do arrive.


**This is a oneshot, kind of dipping my toes into a different fandom that is still very, very close to my heart. I hope you enjoy it, and for those of you who are huge fans of the show, you will recognize this moment. I had to stop playing for a while when it happened. Also, some of you are probably wondering why this is in the M category. As far as I'm aware, any gore puts writing pieces into the M category. I may be wrong.  
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A shower of debris rained down on the two crouching figures taking refuge behind a mass of boulders, rounds impacting and shattering Raiders were haphazard in their approach, firing off wildly towards the general direction of their prey, rifles and low caliber pistols cracking and popping off in an increasingly diminishing distance. The Ghoul in the suppressed party stood and made a wild dash for greater cover behind an abandoned camper, rounding the corner to fire off two rounds at close range on a female raider attempting to flank them with a grenade.

The grenade tumbled backwards from her dismembered hand, the rest of her body coming to a crumpled pile just a few feet from the Ghoul adjusting his aim for the raiders closest to him. Pin removed, the explosive rolled and bounced off of nearby rocks and came to a rest to the rear of a sharpshooter leaving only bloodied remnants of a torso and forearms in it's wake.

The silent human of the pair had stood, taking carefully placed shots at the remaining attackers, scoring two crippling hits on one with an assault rifle and dropping another with a well aimed round to the head. As the corpse dropped backwards from the force of the round, the crippled raider attempted to hobble back to cover with both legs giving out under him, pure survival instinct keeping him aloft.

A loud crash of thunder and a mass of buckshot tore into the wounded target, rending both hands from his body and dropping him finally, his body succumbing to shock and dismemberment. The final member of the party attempted to run, spraying rounds over his shoulder from the sub-machine gun in his hands. The human crouched and sighted his target, taking one deep breath and exhaling slowly, squeezing the trigger at the bottom of the exhale. A booming crack and the raider fell forward as if he had only been held up by a clothesline.

The ghoul approached, holding a bandage to his thigh, a piece of shrapnel had taken a minor piece of the unprotected limb. "I'd consider you merciless, were they not raiders. This, is simply pest control."

The Lone Wanderer nodded, sifting through the leather pouch attached to his thigh and withdrawing a stimpack, offering it without words. The ghoul gave thanks by way of a curt grunt, quickly plunging the self-sterilizing hypodermic needle of the device directly into the injured area, hissing through clenched teeth.

The Lone Wanderer checked the action of his hunting rifle, reloading once he was satisfied with its performance and slinging it on his back. His pip-boy began crackling, though not with the familiar panic-inducing sound of a Geiger-Counter. He consulted the wrist mounted device and discovered a fairly weak signal, a few garbled words making their way through the static.

"B…Wif…Si… DC…" A few disjointed numbers followed, though nothing useful.

Charon strolled over and gave his master's shoulder a slight squeeze, extending and retracting his leg to work out the newly healed yet still tender muscles in his thigh. "Got something, I take it, tell me, is it another goodhearted quest or are we to be paid for our services this time."

The Wanderer looked over his shoulder with an apologetic smile, brushing back the hanging bangs from his partially shaven head, a silent shrug given as his whole justification.

Charon checked his ammunition and shook his head, a frustrated smile playing across his features. "Oh, well, I suppose a good reputation is about the same as enough caps for more ammo."

The Communication Tower that had sprung up on his navigation readout was another long forgotten signal booster, though it stood relatively intact within its chain-link enclosure and free of rubble. A scavenger sat nearby, pack-Brahmin placidly chewing on a handful of hay.

"Why, ah, afternoon, travelers, if you're in search of refreshments, medical assistance, or plain old lead and gunpowder, consider me a one-stop-shop!"

Charon regarded the man with his usual emotionless face, causing the others' smile to fade rapidly. The Wanderer glanced over and motioned with a concerned face to the merchant, as if to say 'make friends, he's harmless.' Charon rolled his eyes and withdrew a separate pouch from his pack, personal caps for additional supplies. The Merchant's eyes lit up.

"Well well, I'll have you know I serve all kinds and no paying customer is refused, skin conditions be damned!" He stood proudly with his hands on his hips, waiting for some kind of gratitude from the ghoul.

"Two Nuka-Colas, four stimpacks, and… do you have any noodles?" Charon rattled the bag in his hand, his face still not betraying anything beyond what could be taken as an air of apathy.

"Ah, right away, what was your name again?"

"Again would assume I had stated it previously." A small stone struck him in the shoulder, his leather armor squeaking and groaning as he slowly turned his head to the other Human, already in the process of attempting to pick the gate's lock. "Charon, as I've been led to believe to this point."

The Wanderer finally managed to pop the lock off and strode into the fenced off enclosure. The main breaker of the tower was a simple switch, seeming free of much of the usual degradation and damage of the boosters closer to the DC metro area. He turned slightly to call over the Ghoul, only to find him barely a foot to his rear, looking down with deep disinterest.

"I tend to conduct my business quickly, now what are we doing?"

The Wanderer rolled his eyes and tentatively placed his hand onto the switch, bracing himself for a lethal shock. When none materialized, he shrugged with a smile and flipped the switch upwards, a heavy spark causing the pair to jump backwards.

"You might wanna be careful there boys, these old pre-war devices can be unpredictable!" The merchant made his way down a steep path nearby, waving to the pair as he descended.

"Damn your eyes, we've noticed!"

The wanderer began to cough and fanned away as much of the electrical smoke as he could, focusing on his Pip-Boy's boosted range of reception. The transmission was much clearer, though it did not bring much ease.

"If anyone can hear this; this is Bob Anderstein. My family and I have taken refuge in a drainage ditch not far from a radio relay tower outside of DC. My boy is very sick, and needs medical assistance. Please help, if you can. We are waiting for your response. 3950 Gigahertz. If anyone can hear this; this is Bob Anderstein…"

Charon crossed his arms and leaned against the sturdy base of the tower, listening intently to the message. "Well then, I suppose we should get moving before it gets dark, we don't want to have any nocturnal beasts trailing us."

He moved to continue on, but was surprised to see the Wanderer standing there, and indecisive look on his face.

"Well this is a surprise."

The Lone Wanderer turned with a look of confusion, lowering his Pip-boy slightly.

"The Messiah of the Wastes has doubts as to the veracity of a cry for help. Either I've gone too long drinking human-safe water, or you're actually starting to think before leaping into the fire." Charon chuckled to himself and waited, crossing his arms.

The Wanderer thought a moment, raising the volume to listen more intently to the message. The pain, the fatigue, the unsure tone of the voice; it had to be sincere, there was too much pain and suffering in it to be anything disingenuous. With a deep sigh and a determined nod, the Wanderer rounded the fence, patting Charon on the shoulder and making a 'follow me' motion with his hand.

"To hell and back, though his makes our sixth trip to DC within the last two days."

The trip there was relatively short and uneventful, save for the sudden appearance of several radscorpions and a stray feral ghoul from the metro. Soon they found themselves right on top of the signal, unable to find the entrance spoken of. Charon thought a moment, then picked up a handful of dirt and rocks and began tossing small amounts in a full 360 degrees around them. Eventually the echoing clang and rattle of the small debris caught their attention and brought them into the opening of a drainage ditch.

The Lone wanderer drew his 10mm pistol, checking the chamber and ensuring the magazine was not jammed. He glanced back at Charon, standing at the ready with his trademark combat shotgun.

"I think we're match enough for a sick child and his distraught parents, master."

The Wanderer nodded and made his way into the lower chamber of the ditch, his footsteps echoing on centuries old cement, the steady slosh of his boots in murky water echoing like the memory of the ocean in a seashell. Past the first five feet, the ditch leveled out and became dry once again, though both Charon and the Wanderer took the walls to avoid any of the loose cans and steel panels strewn across the center. At the bottom were two opposing rooms, both maintenance chambers, most likely.

The lone Wanderer thought for a moment and motioned for Charon to accompany him, to train his weapon on the opposite door as he entered the closest, intending to disarm the most likely apprehensive Andersteins of any fears.

"I suppose we'll do it on three then, you are so fond of Cliches." The wanderer gave a playful punch to his arm and raised his hand, dropping it down quickly in a chopping motion as he hit the door release with his shoulder and ran into the room.

"We're he-" The Wanderer was struck silent. Before him lay two entwined skeletons, their limbs entangled as if in a final embrace, and scattered among the ground were a child's toys; lettered and numbered blocks, race cars and delivery trucks, a couple of empty Nuka-Cola bottles. He stood still for a moment, soon turning his attention to a radio on a desk nearby.

"If anyone can hear this; This is Bob Anderstein…."

Charon debated whether or not to say anything, even deviating from his usual course of action and attempting to be encouraging, but instead, he simply watched, slinging his weapon across his back and standing half in, half out the doorway.

The Lone Wanderer stepped carefully over the skeletal remains, eyes scanning a nearby bunk-bed. His heart jumped slightly when he noticed a moving mass underneath tattered blankets on the bottom bunk. Without thinking, he reached forward and drew the blanket back, revealing a lone Radroach eviscerating a pre-war teddy bear. The Wanderer drew his sidearm and blasted the insect to pieces, wasting a full magazine on it. He stood for a moment, weapon drawn, breathing heavily, before he realized tears were streaming down his face.

Charon took notice, but, understanding the human after their time together, put it on the growing list of tragedies his master shouldered on a near daily basis. He stepped out of the doorframe and waited in the main chamber, not making a sound.

The Wanderer stepped over to the radio, the message still crackling over the ancient equipment.

"Please help, if you can…"

He sighed and placed a hand on the power switch, flipping it off without much flair, without any hesitation. In his mind he thought that, at the very least, he was putting the specter of something sorrowful to rest. An echo finally silenced and allowed to fade away into memory. His memory.

The main chamber felt cold now, Charon taking deep swigs from a still sweating bottle of Nuka-Cola. He wiped at his lips and watched the Lone Wanderer emerge, holstering his weapon forlornly. He took two steps as though to begin exiting the chamber before turning abruptly to the second door, rushing forward and slamming his fist into the release button.

The room was empty, only a bottle of Rad-X, a thick volume on 'current' science and scattered intact 10mm rounds. With noticeable sagging of the shoulders, he gathered the items and deposited them into different pouches and pockets on his armor's rigging. He exited the room and wiped at the tears running down his face, leaving smudged streaks from the general dirt and dust any traveler of the wastes accumulates during the day.

Charon followed close behind, exiting just after the Wanderer and nearly bumping into him as he emerged out into the weak light of sunrise. The wanderer held a bottle of Rad-X in his hand, tossing it up and down, like a pitcher weighing his next throw. And with just as much determination and abandon he threw it far into the distance, breathing heavily at the exertion, both physical and emotional.

Charon approached and placed a hand reassuringly on the shoulder plate of the Lone Wanderer's armor. "There was nothing you could have done, from the looks of things, they had died some time ago, I wouldn't be surprised if they had been original survivors of the Great War."

The Lone Wanderer kept his gaze on the rocky earth, finally raising his eyes to meet Charon's.

"At least I came when they called, at least I tried."


End file.
